


Whether you were the lighthouse or the storm

by Warmybones



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I will update the tags as The story progresses, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warmybones/pseuds/Warmybones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look like a devil,” it slipped from his lips, the filter in his already turned off brain disintegrating with the pain that reverberated through his body when he tried to clench his almost frozen hand. </p><p>“Can I whisper in your ear then?” the tone was playful, but when the man crouched down to Iwaizumi’s level there was something dangerous illuminating his gaze. “Let’s make a compromise, Iwa-chan.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Another little adventure! This idea had been bugging me for days and I just had to write it. It has so many possibilities and I'm so excited to explore them, I hope you guys like it!

Iwaizumi Hajime had lost everything.

Everything; his family, his friends, all of the things that once were important to him, even his chances to have a future had ran out.

He thought about it, about the future that waited for him, wondered if he even had one after the events of the night before. It had only taken three things to put another mark in his already horrible record: a drunk girl, two guys and his ever eternal commitment to justice. He had punched the two men to the moon and back when he saw them harassing the poor girl and that had earned him a bloody nose and a night spent at the police station, where they had taken a look at his criminal record and cringed. Theft, violence… Iwaizumi knew every single one of the crimes he had committed in order to survive and in order to protect other people.

Survive. That was the only thing Iwaizumi wanted. He wanted to survive, with his destroyed clothes, with his aching body and his little bag of belongings. The thought of survival passed through his mind fleetly, almost like it hadn’t been there. Iwaizumi thought about searching for a shelter instead of sitting in a dark and dirty alley with his knees held close to his chest and his arms winded up around them, with his face hidden there. He thought about getting up and running away from the rain that was soaking his skin, making it crawl the coldness. He thought and thought and thought, but his body was completely disconnected from his mind and so he continued to sit there until the tiredness of his soul wore off or until his life did.

Iwaizumi didn’t know how much time he had been there with only the sound of the rain to keep him company, but when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching him, his mind snapped out of its reverie, making him gasp against the fabric in which he had hidden his face. It was like coming back, lurching, to his body, violently, feeling everything at once; the shivering, the need to puke, the cold clawing at his skin and crawling inside him to stay.

His mind betrayed him too, after so long, so long of staying in control, a memory of his little sister filled his brain and played behind his eyelids, like an old film that had been abandoned for too long. She was sitting on Iwaizumi’s lap, as she always used to do when she wanted to play, and was making a bracelet for him, with that big smile of hers that Iwaizumi had always loved.

 _Are you happy?_ She had asked after she had finished her work, and now Iwaizumi wanted to die, out in the rain, he wished to drown in this thunderstorm that was falling on him.

 _He belongs in the rain,_ his mother had said one day when there was a storm and Iwaizumi had run out of the house as fast as he could to stand under it and try and catch the raindrops with his small hands.

And maybe that was the truth, maybe he did belong there, maybe he ought to be there as his soul decayed and withered.

_Are you happy?_

_I was, I was, I was,_ his mind chanted as tears blended with the rain. _I was so happy._

Iwaizumi was being swallowed by his own memories and he was letting himself fall, fall, fall, until a noise echoed through the dark alley and made him open his eyes and startle himself back to reality. He heard the footsteps come to a sudden halt in front of him and looked up, leaving his hiding place in his arms to look up from his position. The image of his sister smiling down at him overlapped with reality for a moment and he blinked, getting teardrops out of his eyelashes, as the figure of a man flooded his mind.

There was a man standing in front of him, a tall, suit-dressed man whose face was hidden by a black umbrella. Iwaizumi noticed the cane in his left hand, a dark and elegant thing with which the man created patterns over the floor.

“My, my, what do we have here?”

The voice was clear and cheerful and it did things to Iwaizumi’s disoriented mind. The man wasn’t loud, he didn’t need to be to give off a sense of authority. Iwaizumi felt his body curl in even more, felt his stomach clench, because he had learnt the hard way that men in nice tailored suits that lurked in the shadows never brought good things with them.

“If it isn’t a stray kitten,” the cadence of his voice was upsetting and he tried not cringe, his survival instinct suddenly kicking his hazy mind, warning not to anger the man. His body tensed, even if his muscles were screaming in pain and Iwaizumi tried to sneak a glance past the umbrella to get an impression from the stranger. The man was young, Iwaizumi could tell, but that didn’t calm him in the slightest.

“An abandoned pretty kitten,” the man said, leaning down a little, still guarded by the umbrella.

Iwaizumi felt a growl crawling up his throat, but he tried to suppress it, tried to connect again with his body, where emotions were running wild and taking over, so the logical part of his brain could calm it down and keep it in check. He looked at the man, felt the danger emanating from every ounce of his body, and Iwaizumi knew he should do something, but he was tired and wanted to die silently, without being played at. He tried to hide his face in the hollowed space that he had created with his arms, but a pressure under his chin, something wet and slippery made him keep still.

“I’m talking to you, kitten,” the man said with the same tone, but the words felt hissed, almost as if he wanted to lure and repel Iwaizumi at the same time. The pressure under his chin, the cane the man had, Iwaizumi realised, tilted his head up and made Iwaizumi look at him.

The umbrella was still blocking his sight, so Iwaizumi closed his eyes, frowning at the pain that suddenly took over his neck from stretching the cold muscles too quickly.

“Don’t call me that,” he managed to say with a broken, low voice that seemed to get lost in the sound of the rain.

“Then how should I call you?”

Iwaizumi opened his eyes and stared at the man’s suit, caught up in the fine details of it. He wanted the man to go away, to leave him there and continue walking with his rhythmic grace, but, at the same time, Iwaizumi wanted him to stay, to talk and distract him from the miserable feeling that only grew and grew and grew and was trying to suffocate him.

His thoughts were a contradiction in itself, a litany of _please, please, go away, please,_ and the reminding that this was the most decent conversation he had held with anyone without getting his face beaten since he lost everything.

 _For now,_ his mind whispered to him, but the man tilted the umbrella, placing it in the curve where his shoulder and neck met, and Iwaizumi was suddenly deaf to himself and to the world when he caught a glance of the man’s face.

His hair was a disarray of brown locks, a chaos within an order that looked so soft the only thing Iwaizumi wanted to do was to bury his fingers there and feel _again._ His lips were smooth, full, like they had been carved in marble, hiding a surely sharp tongue that could break Iwaizumi into even tinier little pieces. The way the man held himself, carelessly and agilely, broke Iwaizumi’s sense of danger, but he had to rebuild it again, to pick up the pieces of his barrier, cutting himself with the edges as he stared into the eyes of the other man and breathed harshly. They were a warm shade of brown, like the sand that laid beneath the water of the rivers, like the leather Iwaizumi loved to smell so much as a kid, like the brewed coffee whose smell stayed with you and clung to your clothes, almost like a calming presence.

His eyes were too pretty and Iwaizumi was terribly weak.

“Iwaizumi,” he murmured, and when the stranger arched a perfect eyebrow he added, almost as if pulled by a strange force, “Hajime.”

“Then, Iwa-chan,” the man said in a cheerful voice and the cane slipped from Iwaizumi’s chin and returned to its place at his owner side.

“Do you always annoy homeless people that you see on the street?” Iwaizumi asked, without thinking.

His brain had already turned itself off, maybe as a way to protect him, to defend him from the coldness, so he wouldn’t have to think about it seeping into his bones, making him tremble and making his olive dark skin pale.

His lips were most likely turning blue and he felt his own body crumbling, falling apart little by little. But his mind was there, still there, he was still breathing, even if following the conversation was becoming more and more difficult for him.

 “I don’t make a hobby out of it,” the man said, dramatically holding the cane and tilting his umbrella further back as he shrugged. “But you look like you need help.”

Iwaizumi snorted, weakly. The understatement of the century, truly. He felt dizzy suddenly, but he looked up once more to look at the stranger. There was something in his eyes, in his hair and face that felt comfortably secure, like if he stared for long enough he would feel warm again. But he also looked like a demon pulled out straight from hell, all sharp lines and dark suits, with shoes perfect for stomping on heads, with a pretty face and a chirpy voice, ready to offer a contract for Iwaizumi’s soul.

“You look like a devil,” it slipped from his lips, the filter in his already turned off brain disintegrating with the pain that reverberated through his body when he tried to clench his almost frozen hand.

“Can I whisper in your ear then?” the tone was playful, but when the man crouched down to Iwaizumi’s level there was something dangerous illuminating his gaze. “Let’s make a compromise, Iwa-chan.”

“I will take you in. A house, food, a place to sleep on, to shower… You can have all of that once again,” his smile was encouraging and Iwaizumi wanted to close his eyes to let the man vanish for a moment. “You can live again.”

“In exchange of what,” Iwaizumi rasped out, trying to reason with himself, to quiet down that voice inside of his head that was screaming at him for not accepting straight away.

This man had a sharp tongue, as he had imagined, and he knew what sharp-tongued man and woman could do to others. It could be a trap, it could end up with him tortured, murdered or god knew what.

 _So what?_ His whole body screamed, reminding him that he was already dying and that it was only time he would precipitate from the cliff of his consciousness and said goodbye to this world. Iwaizumi realised then, that he was desperate, underneath all that icy barrier and the dumbness, he wanted to live, to create a future for himself with his own hands.

“In exchange for your wonderful company.”

It wasn’t an answer, Iwaizumi knew, and the little smile that accompanied the statement made bile rise in his throat. But he would take it, he would let the devil take him away, with his eerie smile and luring eyes.

“Hajime,” the man whispered when the silence stretched for too long. “I’m a busy man.”

His voice managed to surpass the noise of the rain and Iwaizumi shivered, feeling a knot in his throat. The way his name rolled off the man’s tongue, so elegant and grounding made Iwaizumi feel as if he was flying. He wished he could really fly, as his mouth moved on its own, letting out a breath that sounded like ‘Okay’. Iwaizumi wished he could really fly, so he wouldn’t have to rely on his already dead limbs, who didn’t let him stand up, even when he wanted to walk away and never turn his gaze back.

He groaned, weakly, so weakly, and the man brought his hand forward a little, moving away a strand of wet hair from Iwaizumi’s forehead, as he shielded him from the rain with the umbrella at the same time.

“Can’t stand?” he cooed, and his voice along with the sounds of typing on a phone came distorted to Iwaizumi’s ears.

Not having the rain hitting his skin was nice, even when he felt lie the cold would never go out of his body, would always cling to him as a second skin. But the hand, the fingers on his forehead still resting there, almost as if it were natural for them, made Iwaizumi breathe out a soft moan. The warmness of the fingers and the body heat that came off from the man made Iwaizumi want to crawl closer, to disappear under the other’s skin. Those scattered thoughts filled his mind, bringing some kind of strange comfort to his soul, but everything turned to coldness once again when the hand on his forehead disappeared.

“Mattsun, I need you here. Bring the car.”

Iwaizumi groaned, chasing the hand already gone from his skin and, when he heard the sound of an ending call, he felt a soft texture cover his forehead.

“Shhh, Iwa-chan.”

It was meant to be soothing and Iwaizumi found himself relaxing against the other, feeling the numbness of his skin give out to welcome the relief that came with being dried out. Iwaizumi mumbled, wanting to ask his name, wanting to keep looking at the man’s eyes, but his lids dropped and the darkness took him in as something like ‘y-you’ escaped from his mouth.

“Oikawa,” he said as he wiped Iwaizumi’s cheek with the handkerchief, like he could see right into Iwaizumi’s mind. “Oikawa Tooru.”

Iwaizumi wanted to pronounce the name, to know if it sounded as pretty on his lips as they did on Oikawa’s, or if it was just his subconscious already favouring the man for showing him enough kindness to make his knees weak. But he couldn’t speak, the words failed him, as well as his voice, and not even the groans of pain were able to leave the comfort of his mouth.

“Iwa-chan, you still with me?” there was a hand on his neck, fingertips precise, counting his heartbeats, and then Oikawa was cursing under his breath.

Iwaizumi supposed that his heartbeat was slow, too slow. And it was just as he felt, too slow to take a breath, too slow to catch Oikawa’s voice, too slow to even feel the hand that was shaking his body, trying to get him to open his eyes.

And suddenly, everything that was slow stopped for a moment, only to return to its normal speed, just as he felt himself floating. The sound of the rain was as loud as ever, but the raindrops couldn’t touch him now, not when he was suspended on air, with something warm cradling his shoulders and the back of his knees.

“Carry him to the car, get the blankets and turn the heating on.”

He opened his eyes when he heard Oikawa’s voice, his muscles sending lightings of pains through his nerves at the sudden change of position, and came to realize that he wasn’t curled in himself, sitting in a dark alley anymore, but was being carried by a tall man, and was being protected from the rain by a dark violet umbrella too.

The man looked down at him when he noticed Iwaizumi’s eyes on his face and smiled, sympathetic. He was huge, but in Iwaizumi’s hazy mind as he watched with unseeing eyes, he felt more of a calming presence emanating from the man than a threating one.

“You look like hell, little buddy,” the man said, but his hands were gentle on his body and he was warm, the expanse of his chest the perfect place for Iwaizumi to drop his head and sigh.

If he had any strength in his body he would have gotten angry at the ‘little buddy’, but his dizzy mind let it slip and soon, he was letting his eyelids drop again.

However, he did not fall asleep. The man was always talking to him, telling Iwaizumi stories that didn’t even get processed in his mind. He also touched his body from time to time, lightly, merely a shake, just so he could get some noise out of Iwaizumi and a confirmation that he was still conscious, even when Iwaizumi was already inside of the car.

And he was, the thing was that his mind was almost completely disconnected from his body. So when he finally came back to his body he realised that the minutes or hours that he had spent with the man were merely a blur in his mind. A blur in his mind that had ended up with him lacking his clothes and wrapped in what looked like a thousand blankets, sitting in the backseat with the heat filling the car comfortably.

Iwaizumi heard the door of the car being forcefully open and when Oikawa’s voice reached his ears, filling the car, it felt like he could warm up the whole space just with that, with the power of his voice.

 “How is he?” the door closed behind his figure and, when Iwaizumi looked at him from the corner of his eyes, he realised that the other was dripping, the cane and the umbrella both gone.

His hair created beautiful curls even when wet, making the raindrops fall prettily around him, and his eyes seemed to shine, a contrast to the darkness that seemed to envelop the atmosphere; the clothes, the car, the sky…

“He has stopped shivering,” the man that had carried him there said from the driver seat. “And last time I touched him he wasn’t as cold as an ice cube.”

“You didn’t let him fall asleep, did you?”

“Nope, he was conscious the whole time.”

“Good,” Oikawa whispered, wrapping his hand around one of Iwaizumi’s wrist, checking for his pulse. “We can go, Mattsun.”

The car came to life then, and Iwaizumi almost sighed, remembering suddenly the moment he had given up, the moment he had believed he really wanted to part from this world. He thought of his family, another moment of weakness, as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

 _I don’t,_ he thought as the car began to move and took them through the city. _Mom, I don’t belong in the rain._

Oikawa’s hand was holding his wrist, his fingertips on Iwaizumi’s pulse point and Iwaizumi let himself be cradled by sleep, the heat, the blankets and Oikawa’s skin brushing against his made him feel safe enough to let himself go.

 

* * *

 

 When Iwaizumi finally came back to himself he was naked, sprawled out on a tub filled with hot water that enveloped his body in a hug that felt like summer itself was touching him. His forehead was covered by a hot and when he opened his eyes he saw the steam, dancing, creating patterns that dissolved in the air.

“Are you awake?” the voice was soft, close and it lacked that tone that had put Iwaizumi on guard the first time he heard it.

Iwaizumi looked to his left to find the man that had saved his life, sitting on the tub’s edge while he looked at him, almost analytically, and checking the water temperature with his hand.

Which wasn’t wrapped around Iwaizumi’s wrist anymore.

The thought, sudden and imposing in his mind, woke up an unsettled feeling that he chose to ignore in favour of trying to orient himself.

 “Where--?”

“My house. We warmed you up in the car so your temperature wouldn’t have a drastic change.”

Iwaizumi groaned as Oikawa took the cloth from his forehead and let it fall on the sink. He stood up from the tub’s edge, reaching forward to grab a towel from the cabinet and Iwaizumi noticed his ruffled clothes; the lack of a jacket and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

“Can you stand up?”

The words were slow to enter his brain, his mind still focused on how different Oikawa looked, how relaxed and actually comfortable he seemed in this crazy situation, but when they did Iwaizumi tested his body. He could move it, his limbs obeying him with difficulty, still aching and hurting, but it was an improvement that almost brought tears to his eyes.

And, as he always did, he rushed, he pushed himself and tried to get up, only to feel the pain suddenly flaring in his body, as if a million needles had made their way into his nerves. Iwaizumi gasped, his hold on the bathtub slipping, and Oikawa was by his side in an instant, holding the towel and taking Iwaizumi’s body so he could lean on Oikawa.

“Let me,” he said, almost as if Iwaizumi weighed nothing, taking his weight with an easiness that would have surprised him if he wasn’t more surprised by the softness of Oikawa’s clothes.

“You’ll get wet,” Iwaizumi slurred, feeling his limbs turning to jelly.

But it was okay, he thought, Oikawa got him and, as long as he did, he could finally live. The drying and the dressing all happened fast and without a problem. Iwaizumi didn’t even feel pain, Oikawa handling him carefully, methodically, like someone who knew exactly how to take care of these situations. It reminded Iwaizumi of his mother, always calm and collected, even when he came home with a bloody nose and a tooth missing.

 Iwaizumi lost himself to that memory and, before he knew it, Oikawa was done with him, helping him up from the toilet where he had been sitting, and dragging Iwaizumi from the bathroom to a dark room, not too far away from it. Iwaizumi, naked except for a pair of black boxer that Oikawa had managed to slip him on without him noticing, felt the warmness of the house beneath his feet and sighed, feeling too sleepy to even open his eyes and see where Oikawa was leading him.  

Oikawa let him go and Iwaizumi fell delicately on soft sheets, his body arranging itself to feel the texture on all planes of his skin. He couldn’t believe it; a solid bed, smelling clean and hugging his frame softly. It had been too many years without feeling something like this and he would have cried if sleep wasn’t tugging at his consciousness so strongly.

“Oikawa,” he murmured, wanting to thank him, to say how much he appreciated this, even if it couldn’t be conveyed with words.

“Go to sleep, Iwa-chan,” the whisper felt like the summer breeze Iwaizumi had always loved so much and, his body, confused still by the warmness, mistook Oikawa’s voice for it and relaxed against the sheets.

He fell asleep, blissfully, with the summer breeze whispering in his ear.


	2. Pulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the lateness... but now holidays are almost over and I hope I can update regularly! (unless a chapter kicks my ass as badly as this one). Thank you all so much for your comments, it makes me so happy to see you have enjoyed the beginning of this ride.

“Hajime.”

The voice was light, carefree with happiness and softness; it made his conscience dance, the deep darkness giving way to a gentle colour, a soft orange that illuminated the skin behind his eyelids. He shifted his body, feeling the pull of his muscles and frowning as he felt himself stumble into wakefulness.

The scorching heat was uncomfortably tight and his skin was hot, _too hot,_ the ground beneath him humid and soft. The salt in the air tickled his nose and the seagulls attacked his senses with their loud cries. The sea, he realised, opening his eyes into the blinding light and basking in the sound of waves crashing incessantly against the shore.

“Hey, Hajime, are you listening?”

He closed his eyes, the vast extension of blue sky that hung above him disappearing for a moment, and when he opened them again he saw a figure standing over him. It was wearing a small, beautiful sundress that flowed with the wind – almost as it wanted to imitate the undulation of the waves- and a huge straw hat that covered most of its face. But he would know, he would know the delicacy of those hands, the scar that resembled a thunderbolt, the lovely, black long hair that cascaded down those shoulders and collarbones beautifully. He would know them anywhere; dead, alive, vanished from the universe.

His sister, his small, courageous and beautiful sister was standing over him, and he felt something shattering inside of his chest slowly, just like glass succumbing to pressure.

He reached out for her slowly, clumsily, wanting to tangle his fingers in the soft folds of her dress and pull. He longed to see her smile, brighter than the sun and so strong it always managed to soften and curve Iwaizumi’s edges. He longed to see her expressive eyes, lightened up with innocence and curiousness. He longed for so much, but why did it feel like he was trying to reach for the complexity of the sky instead of for his sister’s figure?

“I’m listening,” he found himself saying.

He sounded younger, the words slipping easily from his lips with the kind of fearlessness that comes from knowing no one will beat you up for saying the wrong words. His body betrayed his mind, then; closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles against the sand while his mind screamed for his sister. She was right there, a warmness right on the tip of his fingertips, but his body felt like a heavy burden to wear, his bones encaging him and his muscles choking him. 

“I’m always listening.”

The world rushed in, the darkness enveloping him tightly, the waves washing over him like he was only sand to be washed away and he lost his sister’s voice in the cacophony of a million sounds waiting to be heard. The darkness gave way to something he couldn’t describe and he opened his eyes with a start, his breathing sharp and erratic, hurting and stabbing his lungs with every movement of is chest.

He found himself staring at an unknown ceiling, the serene and open sky replaced by white and plainness, with the sheets pooling at his feet and cascading down the mattress and the pillow held tight between his fingertips.

He relaxed his fingers, one by one, and tried to enjoy the way the sheets caressed his tired skin. He tried, but the early light entering from the window next to the bed made his stomach churn, so he sat up and stared into the dimness of the room. It was painted with soft grey light, the kind that made you feel lethargic, the kind that made you realise it was too soon, even for the sun to rise. It was too soon, but Iwaizumi stared at the window, half closed, and watched the clouds move slowly; the angry black that had painted them the night before had disappeared into a dim colour.

His gaze fell on his worn out bag then, sitting on the floor next to the door, and he relaxed slightly, knowing that the only few belongings he possessed were safe. The floor felt warm beneath the soles of his feet and the world felt unstable when he managed to stand up on his own. The room spun around in his vision, colours and forms blending into each other, so he closed his eyes and willed the dizziness away, just as he had done many times with the pain, the heartbreak, the loneliness.

Everything was warm, but he felt the cold from last night curl up inside of him and run through his veins with renewed valour, the memory of his gasping breaths and the unrelenting rain leaving him shivering and wishing to forget, to forget the way his life had slipped away from his control, the way his life almost slipped away from his hands, just like sand.

He opened his eyes and moved slowly, like an animal assessing new territory. His body was sore, heavy with soundless pain that made him hiss when he moved too roughly. The room was big and full of furniture, but it seemed empty and he didn’t know if it was caused by the early grey light, which he had always hated, or the fact that everything in it seemed too standard.

His bag was waiting for him when he finally managed to drag his body to the floor and curl up beside it. It was familiar, so painfully familiar, and he hated having to touch the only thing that was proof of the life he had led until now. Maybe he could fool himself, thinking that he belonged in this room, in the sheets precariously arranged and in the warmness of the space. Maybe he could fool himself for a second, but he knew, as he opened the bag and checked that everything was still inside, that he would be never able to forget these past years. They were carved in his skin, with fire, with blood, with coldness and with so many unpleasant things Iwaizumi didn’t want to think about.

He closed the bag, still humid, and felt along the texture with his finger as he drew his legs up, to curl up in himself just as he had done the day before, as he was dying in the rain. This position allowed him to keep the world at bay, to limit it and keep it at the end of his feet, waiting for Iwaizumi to uncurl himself so it could jump at his throat and tear him apart. He had thought-- so many years ago, as he watched a woman sobbing on his knees in a hospital-- that the world was cruel. Unjust. Almost impossible to keep up with.

He didn’t know that the world could even be crueller, tearing and sharpening humans into beings that could be considered monsters. He still couldn’t keep up with the world, never had managed to do so, so he just tried to stay alive. Not to live, because was this really living? Giving priority to a survival instinct he didn’t even know he had, instead of to his logical side? Willing his body to hold on, even if it was silently breaking?

 _Let’s make a compromise,_ the devil whispered in his mind and he frowned, something warm quietening down the coldness in his blood.

Oikawa’s brown eyes filled his mind for a second, the memory of the gentleness of his touch seeping through his nerves, before his mind betrayed the calmness that the memory conjured.

_In exchange for what._

_In exchange of your wonderful company._

He shivered, remembering, remembering and hating it, wishing to forget, just as he had many times before. Maybe if he forgot about those words and only carved Oikawa’s voice and touch into his mind, he wouldn’t have to feel the sudden terror that gripped his skin.

He had managed to survive without compromising his body. So many years without succumbing to something that would make things a little easier, without succumbing to something that would make his skin crawl. Until now.

He tried to calm himself, tried to keep the bile from rising in his throat, tried to keep the panic at bay, thinking that this was better than ruined alleys with drunk men trying to get a hold of his tanned skin. It was better than selling his body and getting fucked against a wall behind a container by an old man, back scratching and bleeding impossibly crimson, as he had seen teenagers do.

It was better, he thought, the memory of Oikawa’s fingertips pressing against his pulse, of his body holding him up and drying him so gently Iwaizumi didn’t even notice. Oikawa was dangerous, but he had been so incredibly that gentle Iwaizumi was having trouble reconciling these two sides.

He heard footsteps outside his door and his whole body tensed up, ready for something he didn’t even know; but they continued, passing his door, the sound disappearing into the early hours of the morning, almost as if it never had been there.

Iwaizumi knew he couldn’t hide in that room forever, couldn’t stay curled up on the floor, wishing for the world to swallow him. He knew it, so he stood up and put his hand on the knob, feeling real coldness then. He turned it and it gave under his fingers, the perfectly carved door opening smoothly and silently.

He stepped out of the room, noticing only then, when his feet came in contact with the change of temperature of the floor, how he was dressed. A white shirt and grey sweatpants that hugged his hips low. He seemed almost normal, and he felt strange, having such clean and ordinary clothes and being a disarray of thoughts and feelings on the inside.

He walked down the hallway almost blindly, just following the path set for him, dragging his fingertips along the wall. At the end of it, he saw the morning light and the beginning of another room. One that seemed to be the kitchen, he thought as he entered the space, marvelling himself at the wideness, the contrast between smooth marble and dark mahogany. The windows were incredibly tall, letting the light come in, letting it pour itself over every surface like wine at a party; generously and richly. It made the grey early light look almost soft, comfortable, something to bask in. And it did a wonderful job at highlighting the dark figure that leaned over the counter, too.

Iwaizumi recognized the brown wild locks first, followed by the black suit that hugged its owner skin nicely. The man – _Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru,_ the voice in his head reminded him—was watching him silently, taking in his reaction and analysing his expression. Iwaizumi’s stomach dropped at the sight of him and he trembled, his body fighting blindly against the terror that rose inside of him and the feeling of safety that came from Oikawa’s eyes.

 _Fight or flight_ , his body screamed, but he just stood there, paralyzed, taking Oikawa in in return. He looked like a mess, a tender mess, all disbelieved hair and clothes; his tie loose on his neck, jacket wrinkled and the first three buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes were slightly red and his arms laid before him on the counter, holding a stack of papers that looked painfully dull.

“Good morning,” the voice was low and grave, so different from Oikawa’s cheerful one that Iwaizumi startled, moving his eyes from Oikawa’s uncovered forearms to the shades beneath his eyes.

He preferred it that way, looking into someone else’s weakness instead of letting his mind wander off and imagine what those strong arms could do to him.

Nothing good, he concluded, his eyes being trapped once again when Oikawa moved and leaned against the chair, his arms flexing with the movement.

“Morning,” he managed to get out his mouth, through the lump of his throat, but it was only a gibberish sound.

Oikawa was still watching him like he was a wild animal, careful with his expressions and silent with his movements to see if he would snap. Iwaizumi certainly felt like one; hovering near the kitchen’s door, heart caught in his chest and senses on edge. He wanted Oikawa to say something, to ease him out of these uncomfortable feelings, just as he had done the night before.

He wanted that, but the nerves were starting to get the better of him, so he opened his mouth, not really knowing what to say – and his stomach growled.

Loud and clear, a statement that his body came first before any kind of breakdown Iwaizumi might be having. His eyes widened and he flushed angrily, but prettily, his tanned skin hiding the most of it. Oikawa laughed softly from his seat and Iwaizumi stared, forgetting his embarrassment in favour of focusing on the way Oikawa’s eyes closed and the way he tilted his head to the right. It was soft and beautiful, and nothing felt forced. This was vulnerability, sudden and fragile, and Iwaizumi thought he might go crazy with the pure contradiction that Oikawa was.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said, sobering up and waving his hand in the direction of the counter that laid just beneath the window. There was a large variety of food prepared there, and Iwaizumi didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before. “Help yourself.”

But Iwaizumi didn’t move. He stood there, motionless under Oikawa’s gaze, who arched one of his perfect eyebrows, curious but silent, giving Iwaizumi time to gather himself, to pull himself together. Which was fairly difficult, Iwaizumi found out. He needed to know, needed to know what would become of him now, if he would vanish slowly, like so many faces he once knew, or if he would just combust, quickly, painless. He needed to know, but the openness of Oikawa’s posture, of his face and expression made Iwaizumi want to bask in them for a little longer, to try and smother the anxiety clouding his chest, to try and will his pulse to slow down.

He faltered a little, opening his mouth and not finding words. But then he thought about the streets, about how faltering wasn’t a choice and how the wrong words could sentence your life. His brain practically reacted on instinct.

 “What do I have to do?”

What do you want me to do for you; _eagerness._

What are you going to do to me; _passiveness._

Both expressions were a no-go, so Iwaizumi stuck with the neutrality of his words, shielding himself behind them and watched for a reaction that would finally set his nerves on fire.

“Come here.”

The response was immediate – _powerful –_ and it made Iwaizumi curl his fists at his sides. The tone left no room for disobeying, so he went, his eyes zoning on Oikawa’s hand, palm up and pliant, like it was inviting Iwaizumi to count the lines that roamed his skin.

But he didn’t. He didn’t, so when he stood beside Oikawa, without anything that could distract his mind, he felt naked. Open and ready to be taken apart.

“You’re shaking.”

Iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek and turned his eyes away from Oikawa. The trees outside the kitchen’s window caught his attention, unmoving, the leaves barely moving from their place on the branches. _The calm before the storm,_ Iwaizumi thought, hating the tranquillity of the world outside, hating the tranquillity of Oikawa’s posture, too; the way his eyelids dropped as he made to wrap his hand around Iwaizumi’s wrist. He hated everything about the situation, felt like imploding and, realised, that he didn’t want to fear this man.

He didn’t want to fear _anyone._

“Don’t. Look at me.”

He did, slowly. Something about the softness in his voice, the way the words didn’t seem like a command made his tired body react and he found himself frowning at the sight before him, his heart clenching when he realised just how pale Oikawa seemed in the dim light of the kitchen. He still hadn’t touched Iwaizumi, just hovered near the skin, almost as if he was mocking him.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t and when Iwaizumi understood, sudden as a thunderbolt, that Oikawa wanted to touch him, but refrained from doing so for his sake, noticing his discomfort, he felt a pang of something painful inside of his chest.

Oikawa didn’t touch him, but he looked at Iwaizumi, intently. Worryingly. He hadn’t seen that kind of look directed to him in a very long time, and so he willed the air back inside his lung, the task proving to be a difficult one for his weak core.

“Talk to me.”

Iwaizumi breathed in. Oikawa did too, sharp and sudden, and Iwaizumi’s eye focused on the bare skin of his skin, revealed discretely, almost like a secret. Crimson tainted his mind for a moment, painful cries born in a memory confused his senses and then, the words were out of his mouth, slipping from his tongue before he could stop them.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“No.”

The word was loud in the silence of the room and, most of all, quick. It left Oikawa’s lips easily, without a trace of dishonesty and his brown eyes were so clear and calm when he said it, Iwaizumi’s knees trembled with the relief of it, his body stumbling clumsily. Oikawa touched him then, hands set on Iwaizumi’s arms as he held him up and guided him gently to the seat next to him. _Easy,_ he murmured, but his hands were already drawing away when Iwaizumi lifted his eyes to catch another glimpse of his expression.

“I have no interest in making you more miserable,” he said, leaning away from Iwaizumi and settling on his chair, body almost collapsing over the counter.

 “Why were you so mysterious then?”

“You were dying. I wanted you to understand that I could save you. Talking about job formalities yesterday would have been a little harsh, wouldn’t it?” he added with a little smile, almost playful.

“Job formalities?”

“I want you to work for me,” he got up from the chair and made his way to the sink, getting out of his jacket with swift movements.

He dropped it on the table, just near all the food. Iwaizumi’s stomach coiled tightly, reminding him that he needed that, that he needed something before the dizziness took over his vision and he passed out. It had happened before, out there in the streets, when the winter was at its worst and there was nothing to be found in the trash.

His thoughts came to a halt, unable to wander further into the memory when a plate was placed before him. His eyes widened before the smell hit him full force and almost knocked out all of his senses. It smelled like autumn, like the pastries his mother loved to cook when the weather was starting to get worse and worse. It smelled like home, or what he supposed it was home—he had forgotten that smell a long time ago. But this one, enticing, warm and absolutely delicious created sparks inside of his stomach.

“Eat,” came Oikawa’s voice, and, as easily as he had said it, Iwaizumi took the first pastry in his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before digging in, and then he moaned into the food, the taste exploding in his mouth, creating a whole new world of sensations that he had only dreamed about until that moment. Iwaizumi closed his eyes, trying to ignore the way he caught Oikawa smiling behind his mug, and focused on the food before him. Oikawa advised him not to eat too fast, if he didn’t want to throw up, but he was so hungry he felt he could eat the whole _world._

Oikawa watched him eat, sipping his coffee from time to time, and spook lowly when he thought that Iwaizumi was eating too fast. It felt nice, Iwaizumi thought, to be like this. To be safe, warm and full. To have Oikawa watch over him. He had forgotten so many things in the streets, so many things that just felt right, and just within a few hours near Oikawa he had been able to experience some of those things once again.

He eyed the coffee Oikawa was drinking, remembering the bitter taste and the insane quantities he had been forced to drink in order to survive when he still attended university. Oikawa noticed his gaze, and his voice came mumbled before he took another sip.

“No coffee for you.”

“Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow and trying to clean his mouth of the mess he had done on himself. He didn’t think he was really successful.

“Because you need to sleep.”

He couldn’t argue on that one. But he couldn’t say that he doubted he would be able to fall asleep after this. Even when his incessant worries seemed to have quietened down, his nightmares were still hunting him and his body just couldn’t seem to get used to the niceness of the clothes.

It was a strange feeling; having all the good things you had been craving, but then your body didn’t seem to want them, accustomed as it was to rough surfaces and scratchy clothes.

“Do you want tea?”

He didn’t want to seem disrespectful, he really didn’t, but the disgust showed in his face way before he could do something about it. Oikawa chuckled lightly, one hand on his cheek, holding his face as he looked at Iwaizumi, amused. He still looked tired, but his skin had acquired a nicer colour, something that blended better with locks and smile.

“Sorry. I’ve never liked tea,” he looked to his lap, suddenly shy, and he saw Oikawa’s form sliding slightly away, giving him a little more of space.

“I have orange juice, too?”

“Hm,” Iwaizumi nodded, and when Oikawa slid away from the seat once again and walked to the refrigerator he felt ashamed, the rush sudden and unwelcome.

The feeling that he was being spoiled like a child made him get up from the seat, hands trembling and voice faltering as a blush crept up further onto his cheeks.

“I could—“

He was completely shot down by Oikawa’s voice and the way his strong back —straight lines and slight curves— moved made a compelling sight to obey to.

“Sit down, Iwa-chan. You should still be in bed.”

So he did, and when Oikawa came back with two mugs, he thanked him, intertwining his fingers while holding his mug, feeling that it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, a simple ‘thank you’ would never convey just how he had felt when that car had started up, had driven away from the streets with him inside.

He would never be able to convey his gratitude, but maybe he could help this man in some kind of way.

“You want me to work for you,” Iwaizumi said, after sipping his drink and closing his eyes, enjoying the way the taste wrapped around his tongue. At Oikawa’s silent nod, he continued. “What kind of job?”

Oikawa looked out of the window then, his brow slightly furrowed, as he brought his drink to his lips. He seemed to drink and drink and drink, for a very long time, and Iwaizumi started to fidget in his seat, one of his eyebrows raised at Oikawa’s lack of response.

“A secretary,” he finally said, sighing like he had let a heavy burden go.

“You didn’t have that worked out,” Iwaizumi said, his eyes widening with horror when he understood that Oikawa had been hesitating.

Oikawa spluttered indignantly, leaving his mug on the counter and pursing his lips.

“Of course I had, Iwa-chan, so little faith.”

Iwaizumi was surprised, extremely so, by how expressive Oikawa was. They haven’t been together for more an hour and Iwaizumi could already tell that he would need an insanely amount of time to figure out the pull of his lips, the arch of an eyebrow or the wrinkling of his nose. It was maddening to see his image of a cold Oikawa, neutral and teasing, clashing with reality.

“Can I ask what do you work as?”

He needed to know more, but the private, small smile that Oikawa’s mouth formed, blew off the spark of curiosity that had woken up within him.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“I won’t, then,” Iwaizumi said, and it was as easy as that.

He thought that maybe he would regret this, not asking questions, not trying to understand. Maybe Oikawa was really dangerous, maybe he was getting into something he shouldn’t, maybe, maybe, maybe. So many possibilities, but Iwaizumi felt good in that moment, watching as Oikawa looked at his watch and rose from the chair for the last time, collecting the papers that had scattered on the counter and shoving them inside his bag.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his thoughts quietened down, and breathing got just a little bit easier.

“I will have your contract ready once I get home. For now, just sleep. Mattsun will give you a tour around the house when you are ready.”

He talked in a rush as he got his jacket from where it had been thrown over and started for the door, heading in the opposite direction from where Iwaizumi had entered the kitchen. He watched for a moment his form, the contrast between light and shadow creating lines along his body so sharp that it could make you bleed, before talking.

“Your bag,” he called from his seat, watching as Oikawa bolted around and stared at it as if it had personal offended him.

Oikawa disappeared a few seconds later, managing to bid Iwaizumi a proper goodbye before the sound of the door clicking shut behind him echoed through the empty kitchen.

You didn’t sleep, he had wanted to say, but didn’t. He sipped from his mug and curled his toes, staring out of the window and watching the clouds move, giving way to the light, making the world brighter.

 _You didn’t sleep_ , but that was all right. He didn’t think he could, either.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this going too slow or is this just my paranoid ass talking?  
> Moving on, any comment is incredibly welcome and if you want to chat both my twitter and tumblr are Warmybones!!   
> Thank you for reading (⺣◡⺣)♡*

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr and Twitter: Warmybones. Come say hi! (≧◡≦) ♡


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